Just Another Day...
“Two Caesar Salads and a Greek lamb kebab”, were the first words Mark heard that day; not that he pays attention to anything else anyway. Aside from interrupting the song Vivace from Brahms Orchestra, playing in his head, it didn’t bother him at all.
Pushing his black fringe back on his head, then tucking them in place with his toga, Mark throws the knob on the stove to medium, then heads to the fridge to gather other cold ingredients for the orders he has just received.
Just as he had put all the things he needed on the counter, Jeff walks in. Mark looks up, and Jeff quickly tilts his head to one side, indicating to Mark to drop whatever he is doing and get out of the kitchen, which Mark obediently follows.
It is not uncommon for Mark to receive orders like that, especially from Jeff. He doesn’t mind it at all- having to leave his work undone, not that the patrons at the restaurant would dare to complain anyway, in fact, most of the dishes Mark made never made it to the table because the patrons had already left. That of course was not due to the extreme long wait, but due to the fact the restaurant wasn’t really a friendly, peaceful place to have your lunch anyway.
Mark sits on steps leading to the back alley, reaches into his apron for his cigarettes. Just as he lit one up, Jeff started screaming something at another person who retaliated with his own yells. Mark being himself, didn’t pay attention to the contents, all he knew was those two men were disagreeing about something.
The kitchen soon sounded like it was being trashed. Metal clangs made from falling steel Tupperware, knives and cutlery falling off the counters – sounds all too common for Mark. The only thing that disturbed him was the fact he had to clean the floors again, and possibly pick up some human entrails while he was at it. He looked at the smoke emanating from the cigarette, took a puff and thought the cigarette was justified. He then looked at the tip of the joint, and somehow knew that the life of the person who was getting beat up by Jeff, would not last longer than those embers.
He took another long drag, hopefully the cigarette will burn out quicker, and somehow to him, that might quicken Jeff’s beating and end the poor sod’s life faster as well. For some odd reason, Beethoven’s 3rd symphony, like a travelling circus, pitched a tent in his mind.
True enough to his theory, the fighting did cease before Mark’s cigarette went out. The kitchen was quiet again. Jeff walked out of the kitchen to the alley where Mark was sitting.
“Sorry bout the mess mate... you got a spare cigg?”
Without saying a thing, Mark again reached into his apron pockets and handed Jeff a soft pack of Marlboros.
Jeff lit one up as well. "Cheers buddy", his words muffled his inability to open his lips fully because they were busy clenching the cigarette between them.
After getting the pack back, Mark, as obediently as he walked out- went back into the kitchen. The kitchen, aside from the displaced wares and a body who appeared to have drowned in his own blood - was the same as before. He then had a dilemma; should he clean up the mess Jeff has made first? Or prepare the two salads and kebab. Since the chicken needed to be pan fried, he thought he could do both at the same time.
The metal heat-rings on the stove were charred with something unidentifiable, and were releasing this weird smell. Mark glancing over his shoulder only to see a few black stripes on the body’s face, still hissing with smoke, solved the mystery of the once-unidentified chars.
As the pan started to heat up, the olive oil in it started to crackle. Fillets of chicken breasts soon joined in and danced in the golden-blonde puddle.
While the fillets were getting acquainted with the oil; Mark took out a mop and started pushing the pool of blood down the pipes.
In his mind, there were no thoughts –none other than the humming of Poco Allegretto.
Pushing his black fringe back on his head, then tucking them in place with his toga, Mark throws the knob on the stove to medium, then heads to the fridge to gather other cold ingredients for the orders he has just received.
Just as he had put all the things he needed on the counter, Jeff walks in. Mark looks up, and Jeff quickly tilts his head to one side, indicating to Mark to drop whatever he is doing and get out of the kitchen, which Mark obediently follows.
It is not uncommon for Mark to receive orders like that, especially from Jeff. He doesn’t mind it at all- having to leave his work undone, not that the patrons at the restaurant would dare to complain anyway, in fact, most of the dishes Mark made never made it to the table because the patrons had already left. That of course was not due to the extreme long wait, but due to the fact the restaurant wasn’t really a friendly, peaceful place to have your lunch anyway.
Mark sits on steps leading to the back alley, reaches into his apron for his cigarettes. Just as he lit one up, Jeff started screaming something at another person who retaliated with his own yells. Mark being himself, didn’t pay attention to the contents, all he knew was those two men were disagreeing about something.
The kitchen soon sounded like it was being trashed. Metal clangs made from falling steel Tupperware, knives and cutlery falling off the counters – sounds all too common for Mark. The only thing that disturbed him was the fact he had to clean the floors again, and possibly pick up some human entrails while he was at it. He looked at the smoke emanating from the cigarette, took a puff and thought the cigarette was justified. He then looked at the tip of the joint, and somehow knew that the life of the person who was getting beat up by Jeff, would not last longer than those embers.
He took another long drag, hopefully the cigarette will burn out quicker, and somehow to him, that might quicken Jeff’s beating and end the poor sod’s life faster as well. For some odd reason, Beethoven’s 3rd symphony, like a travelling circus, pitched a tent in his mind.
True enough to his theory, the fighting did cease before Mark’s cigarette went out. The kitchen was quiet again. Jeff walked out of the kitchen to the alley where Mark was sitting.
“Sorry bout the mess mate... you got a spare cigg?”
Without saying a thing, Mark again reached into his apron pockets and handed Jeff a soft pack of Marlboros.
Jeff lit one up as well. "Cheers buddy", his words muffled his inability to open his lips fully because they were busy clenching the cigarette between them.
After getting the pack back, Mark, as obediently as he walked out- went back into the kitchen. The kitchen, aside from the displaced wares and a body who appeared to have drowned in his own blood - was the same as before. He then had a dilemma; should he clean up the mess Jeff has made first? Or prepare the two salads and kebab. Since the chicken needed to be pan fried, he thought he could do both at the same time.
The metal heat-rings on the stove were charred with something unidentifiable, and were releasing this weird smell. Mark glancing over his shoulder only to see a few black stripes on the body’s face, still hissing with smoke, solved the mystery of the once-unidentified chars.
As the pan started to heat up, the olive oil in it started to crackle. Fillets of chicken breasts soon joined in and danced in the golden-blonde puddle.
While the fillets were getting acquainted with the oil; Mark took out a mop and started pushing the pool of blood down the pipes.
In his mind, there were no thoughts –none other than the humming of Poco Allegretto.
posted by Killl_Roy at 9:52 PM
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